You drive, and drive more, and keep driving until OMG I FUCKING HATE LOS ANGELES AND IF THIS DOESN’T WORK I’LL…
…and then you get the email. The one saying you’re pinned, or on avail. Then you let yourself dream for a bit, forgetting that the last time your little one was on avail, the company decided they wanted to see everyone who was on avail one last time so you haul ass across town again. Only to discover that apparently, every child who looks remotely like yours (and a few redheads, because there’s always a few redheads) was put on avail. All 600 of you.
Except this time that didn’t happen. This time YOU’RE (I mean, your child <cough>) was the one who fit the part. Whether they reminded the CD of someone who was nice to them in school, looked like the main actors, closely resembled the older or younger brother or sister who was cast first-it doesn’t matter.
You got a Yes. And not just a Yes for a $350 (+10%) internet project where they’re buying your kid’s image in perpetuity; no…you got a Yes for something big. A feature film, a recurring co-star, a recurring guest-star, a guest-star. Something that comes with a trailer, or even a honey wagon, and a drive on parking pass.
Then the myriad of emotions begins: elation, fear (OMG what if they change their mind? Wait, just me? OK, I’ll tuck that crazy back in and move on), internal gloating for all the humble bragging and “Oh, I didn’t think I’d see you here” from other parents at auditions (that happened. true story), more fear, dreaming of your child at a red carpet premiere, envisioning your relatives faces when they see your child on television or on a screen, or nerves on behalf of your child…
…will they remember their lines? Will they follow directions? Will they actually enjoy it? Do they really want to do this or are they doing it to please me?
And then they get to set and you let yourself breathe a bit. Yes, they remember their lines. Yes, they are actually enjoying themselves; and yes, it is humanly possible for them to shovel that much craft service food into their mouths. Yes. Until the next round.
We Are Not Stage Moms 